


I Will Never Tire of Loving You

by Eldalire



Series: Dreaming Dreams [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Brain Injury, Car Accident, Hospital, M/M, Memory Loss, TBI, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldalire/pseuds/Eldalire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Courfeyrac is seriously injured in a car accident and suffers a traumatic brain injury, he fears Combeferre will leave him, but Combeferre has other ideas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh God…Courf…You okay?” Combeferre asked, shaken up, but otherwise unharmed, though his SUV had just been T-boned and sent rolling into a ditch.  Courfeyrac, who had been in the passenger seat, laughing and talking not thirty seconds before, was silent.

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asked again, panic setting in.  Though the car had righted itself, there was a pool of blood on the ceiling.

“Courfeyrac!” he shouted, reaching past the rubble that was once the roof of the car and giving Courfeyrac’s shoulder a shake.  His eyes fluttered open, and immediately he screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. Combeferre wished he had left him alone, for he was obviously in excruciating pain.

“You okay?” Combeferre asked, tears in his eyes.  Though he knew his boyfriend was most certainly not okay, he just wanted to hear him say something—anything—besides that terrible, blood-curdling scream.

“No. No—” He struggled to find his voice, overtaken by pain.  He soon lost consciousness again.  Combeferre picked up his cell phone and dialed 112 for the police.

“My car was just T-boned and rolled over and my boyfriend is really hurt.  We’re on the exit ramp on A1.  Please come fast, he’s really in bad shape.” He looked to Courfeyrac again, shivering, though he was unconscious.  Being trained as a paramedic himself, Combeferre recognized shock, and tried to shake Courfeyrac awake again, holding him as best he could, but he did not wake.  He was relieved when he heard sirens.

 

—o0o—

 

Combeferre held Courfeyrac’s hand for as long as he could, even after the anesthetic kicked in and put him to sleep. He watched, tears in his eyes, as Courfeyrac was hurried into the OR, an IV in his arm, an oxygen mask over his pretty face. A nurse had to guide him back to the waiting room, where Enjolras was waiting for him with open arms.

            “He’ll be alright.” Enjolras whispered, giving Combeferre a hug as he sat down. He buried his face in Enjolras’ shirt and sobbed as he rubbed his back.  “They’ll take care of him.  You know that.” He said, offering Combeferre a smile.  Combeferre worked in that same emergency room, and knew better than anyone that Courfeyrac was in good hands; Even with that knowledge, he didn’t feel much better.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras asked, taking the seat on the sofa next to Combeferre.  He shook his head.

            “Talk about something else.” He mumbled into his hands, covering his face.

            “Grantaire just sold a painting.  It was funny, though.  René tripped and fell right into the canvas, but Grantaire left it that way, so now somebody has a print of René’s whole body on their wall.” Combeferre chuckled through his tears. “He and Grantaire are making a card for Courf now.  They’re going to stop by everyone’s house and have them all sign it.”

            “That’s nice of them.” He sniffled.  “I hope he’s alright…He looked so bad when they look him out of the car. He was…he was a mess…”

            “He’ll pull through.  If there’s one thing I know about Courfeyrac, it’s that he never ever gives up. He’s persistent. He’ll get through this.” Combeferre nodded, unconvinced.

 

—o0o—

 

Courfeyrac was in a medically induced coma for three days after his emergency brain surgery, and Combeferre hadn’t left his side. In fact, he had hardly released his hand.  Though the blood had been cleaned from his face and hair, Courfeyrac still didn’t look the same—not to Combeferre.  Though his eyes were closed gently and he was breathing evenly without a respirator, Combeferre could tell he was not sleeping—not naturally, anyway.  His face wasn’t the relaxed, contented expression Combeferre saw laying next to him in bed every night.  He seemed strained, somehow, almost as if he were in pain.

            “Does it hurt, Mon Amour?” he asked quietly, brushing the hair away from Courfeyrac’s eyes, pulling his hand away when Courfeyrac’s face flinched, how it sometimes did in his unconsciousness.  Combeferre felt tears sting behind his eyes, and fell into Courfeyrac’s shoulder, sobbing.

            “I am so sorry, Courfeyrac…I am so, so sorry.” He took his hand and held it tight, kissing the inner corner of his eye, how he liked. His only wish was to see those bright brown eyes open again.

 

—o0o—

 

Two days later, five days after the car accident, Courfeyrac finally opened his eyes, the induced coma dissolving as he came back to life.  The first person he set eyes on was Combeferre.  He smiled, looking to Combeferre for a long moment, lifting his shaky hand and resting it on his cheek, Combeferre’s swarthy skin contrasting with Courfeyrac’s pale fingers. Combeferre took his hand and held it, simply overjoyed that he had come to, that he was awake.

            “I’m so happy you’re alright, Courfeyrac.” He said, tears in his eyes.

            “Courfeyrac…” he replied slowly, carefully, almost as if he had never heard his name before.  “You say it so nicely.” He continued with a small smile that quickly faded into despair. “But you…I love you, I know I do, I remember we…” he struggled to find the word for a moment before continuing, “…lived together… but I don’t remember your name.” Combeferre looked horrified.

            “Combeferre.” He said, his voice wavering.  “You called me ‘Ferre’, remember?  I’m your Ferre.”  Courfeyrac nodded with a smile

            “I remember you.” he grinned meekly.  “I remember…we…we’re dating, me and you.”

            “That’s right.” Combeferre said with a meek smile. “Do you remember Marius? He’s you’re best friend. Or Enjolras?  Or Grantaire?  They live in the apartment above us.  Or René, their little boy?”  Courfeyrac shook his head, and Combeferre looked up to the doctor, who had observed his awakening and was taking notes on his current condition.  “You’ll remember soon.” He continued, though he was looking at the doctor, who shook his head.  Combeferre felt tears stinging behind his eyes again.

            “I want to…um…what?—I want to…” he tried to say, stumbling over his words, at a loss, the phrase simply not making its way from his brain to his mouth. Combeferre could see the frustration in his face, his eyes narrowing.  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked, becoming suddenly panicked.  He tried to sit up, but the doctor forbid it, laying him back down carefully by the shoulder.  Courfeyrac looked around franticly, as if only just realizing he was in a hospital.

            “Do you remember the car accident?” Combeferre asked, taking his hand soothingly, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.  Courfeyrac’s eyes widened.  It was then that Combeferre—and the doctor—realized that Courfeyrac’s pupils were two wildly different sizes. 

            “A car accident—Are you alright?  Are you hurt?” he asked.  Combeferre squeezed his hand reassuringly.

            “No, Mon Amour, but you were hurt very badly…Your head…you needed braid surgery to bring the swelling down.” he explained.  As a doctor himself, Combeferre knew Courfeyrac would wake with a traumatic brain injury, but he was unsure of the extent.  Though Courfeyrac was having obvious memory problems, he may also exhibit physical effects as well, but nobody could be sure before he was well enough to get up from his bed. 

            Courfeyrac sighed heavily, finally relaxing into the bed.

            “I’m going to have to run a few tests, Combeferre.” The doctor said after a long moment.  “You’ll have to leave.” Combeferre understood. He had been on the other side of the situation many times, having to ask a concerned parent or friend to leave the room, and did not protest.  Courfeyrac, however, did.

            “No. No please let him stay.” He said.

            “I can’t, Mon Amour, but I will be right out in the waiting room, I promise you.” Combeferre explained with a smile.  Courfeyrac nodded, and Combeferre headed for the door. The moment it was shut, he fell into Enjolras, who was waiting just outside for him.  He, too, had been at the hospital for the past five days. He had sat with Combeferre for hours when Courfeyrac was in surgery, took him for coffee after sleepless nights, let him sleep on his shoulder in the waiting room.  Now, Enjolras simply held him, letting Combeferre cry into his shoulder.  It was awkward for Enjolras, who had to stand on his toes and reach up to drape his arm over Combeferre’s back, for he was almost a head taller than he, but he did it none the less, rubbing circles into his back.

            “It’s alright.” He cooed.  “Everything will be alright.”

            “He doesn’t remember…He doesn’t remember.  He can’t talk right, he’s…he’s…”

            “I know.” Enjolras said in an effort to stop Combeferre’s babbling, hoping to calm him down.  “I know, Ferre, It’s alright. It’s okay.”

            “He doesn’t remember you.  Or Grantaire. He can’t even remember Marius. Marius is his best friend, and he doesn’t remember…”

            “What did the doctor say?” Enjolras asked, sitting Combeferre down on the bench out in the hallway, taking a seat next to him.

            “He said…He said he might never remember…And I’m so afraid he’ll have cognitive and physical disabilities…Enjolras, what if he can’t walk?”

            “Then you’ll love him just as much as you do right now. Just as much as you did before.”

            “But…But what if he never remembers, Enjolras?  He’s forgotten everything…He’s forgotten René, even though they spent every Monday together…” Courfeyrac had, in fact, babysat René every Monday when Enjolras went into court and Grantaire met clients for his illustrations. Enjolras was sad, of course. René was not easily forgettable, with his dreamy personality and crash of golden curls, but he tried not to let his disappointment show.

            “That’s alright.  He might remember as soon as he sees us.  Memory is a funny thing. You know that. You’ve treated hundreds of people with traumatic brain injuries.”  Combeferre nodded, leaning back and letting the back of his head flop against the wall with a small thud.

 

—o0o—

 

Two days later, the extent of Courfeyrac’s brain trauma became evident.  As it turned out, he could not walk on his own, nor could he lift anything small or heavy in his hands.  Combeferre sat with him in the physical rehabilitation room, keeping him company, offering support when he was frustrated, which was often.  He had great difficulty expressing himself and his feelings, and he couldn’t stand it.

            “Courfeyrac, try to lift the weight into the container.  Grab it by the hook on the top, please.” the physical therapist instructed.  Courfeyrac slowly moved his shaking hand to the 50 gram weight, carefully placing his fingers around the small hook.  His trouble seemed to be with applying appropriate pressure into his fingertips. He couldn’t quite hold it tightly enough to lift it without dropping it shortly after picking it up. This frustrated him beyond belief _.  It’s so simple!_ He told himself.  _Why can’t I do this?_ Whenever Combeferre saw him becoming distressed, he would take his hand.

            Walking was far more frustrating for Courfeyrac than lifting a small weight, though. At first, the doctor had tried to let him walk on his own, using a pair of bars to support himself. It worked for a few steps, but Courfeyrac’s arms were not coordinated enough to move along with his legs, and his wrists would give out, causing him to fall or stumble.  Combeferre was always there to catch him.

            One day, after a particularly rough round of physical therapy, he sat with Combeferre in his hospital room, tears in his eyes.

            “Please don’t cry, Mon Amour.” Combeferre cooed, wiping his eyes. Courfeyrac leaned over in his bed, resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulder.  A layer of fuzz had begin to grow back over the portion of his head that had been shaved for surgery, and it felt strange against Combeferre’s skin.

            “I’m sorry…You can…um…you can go…leave…If you want to.” Courfeyrac said with some difficulty. 

            “It’s alright.  I don’t mind staying here, as long as I can be with you.” Combeferre replied with a smile.

            “No, not leave here…I meant…It’s okay if you want to leave me.” Combeferre’s mouth went dry.

            “Why would I ever want to leave you?” he asked, resting his head on top of Courfeyrac’s.  He took his hand.

            “I can’t…I can’t think right.” He replied, tears rolling down his pasty cheeks—natural color had not yet returned to Courfeyrac’s face. “I can’t…um…walk. I’d be…like…a problem for you. A burden.” He admitted, pulling away from Combeferre and laying down, dizzy. 

            “Never.” Combeferre replied.  “Never ever. I would never leave you. I love you, and I’ll love you in a wheelchair, and I’ll love you when you’re here in the hospital, and I’ll love you when you’re upset at physical therapy, and I’ll love you even if I have to take care of you all on my own.  I will never _ever_ leave you, Courfeyrac.” He smiled, leaning over and kissing the inner corner of his eye—his favorite place to be kissed. 

            “You say so now…” Courfeyrac continued, distress still evident in his face. “But when you…um…when you want to talk politics, and I’m…like…uh…not smart enough…”

            “Courfeyrac, you’re still intelligent.  You haven’t lost your wit.  You just have a cognitive problem, but perhaps it will go away.  I know you’re intelligent.” He smiled again.

            “I can’t talk right…like…correctly, I mean.”

            “But you’re doing so well.  You’re getting better every day.”

            “I can’t…um…walk.”

            “That’s alright.  The doctor says you’ll be up on your feet again.  We just have to keep working at it.  Be persistent. I know it’s hard…”

            “No, Combeferre!  You don’t understand!” Courfeyrac suddenly wailed, his voice sharp, thick with pain and frustration.  “You say you want to stay now, but what about…uh…about when I need help eating? Or when…um…I need a shower, or to get changed…What if I—uh—can’t do it?!  What then?!”

            “Then I will be right there with you.  And I’ll help you.”

            “You will get bored…er…tired of it.  You might be alright at first, but…you’ll…um…you’ll tire of it.”

            “I will never tire of loving you.”

            “You won’t be able to…like…g-go to work.  You’d have to stay home with me.”

            “Maybe at first…But you’ll get better.  I know it, Mon Amour.  You are persistent. You will get better.”

            “What if I can’t?  What if I don’t?”

            “Then I’ll love you anyway.  But that won’t happen.  You’ll get better.”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you too.” Courfeyrac replied, sitting up in bed and kissing Combeferre deeply. “I’ll get better. I’ll get better for you.”

            “I know you will.  I know you will.”

 

~Thank you for reading!  Say hello!  Comments make my day!


	2. Chapter 2

After two weeks in the hospital, with physical therapy every day, Courfeyrac was finally discharged and allowed to go home with Combeferre.  They left the hospital together, Combeferre pushing Courfeyrac along in a wheelchair before lifting him into the car with a smile.  Courfeyrac did not return the grin, and instead closed his eyes.

            “Are you alright, Mon Amour?” Combeferre asked, taking Courfeyrac’s hand and kissing his fingertips.

            “Nervous.” Courfeyrac replied.  “About…driving.”

            “Oh my love, I understand…I’m nervous too…But we just have to get home, then we can stay in for a while, or walk places.  Alright?”  Courfeyrac nodded.

            “What happened with…um…the news…the…shit.  What’s it called, the…that disease…”

            “Ebola?” Combeferre guessed.

            “Yes. What’s going on. I haven’t seen the news.”

            “It’s spread to America.  They’ve diagnosed a case, but they’re also working on a vaccine.”

            “That’s…good.” He said, tripping over his words.  “What…uh…is it like…um…weakened?  What’s the word…”

            “It’s made with an attenuated virus.  They infected rats with attenuated Ebolavirus and made an experimental vaccine with the antibodies the rats developed.  It’s been used on two Americans infected in Liberia, and both of them survived.”

            “Cool.” Courfeyrac smiled.  He always liked hearing about medical advances.  He had worked for a pharmaceutical company before the accident, and worked on vaccines himself, once.  He missed it more than he thought he would.

            “Do you think they’ll let me work again?” Courfeyrac asked after thinking for a bit.  He found that if he really thought hard about what he wanted to say before he attempted to say it, he stumbled less.  It was very frustrating, having a cognitive disability.  His mind knew what he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t say it.  He thought in eloquent, coherent sentences, the same way he thought before the accident.  The only difference was that his mind could not transfer those thoughts into speech, unless he thought about the words and practiced them in his mind before actually speaking them.

            “Maybe in a while…When you’re completely recovered.” Combeferre replied, taking the winding back roads home.  He stayed off the highway as much as he possibly could, for he knew it would frighten Courfeyrac…And it frightened him, too.

            “I don’t know if I’ll…be…If I’ll be able to use the uh…shit! I can’t think!” he clenched a fist, frustrated.

            “You’re getting much better, Courfeyrac.  Just think for a minute.  You know what you want to say, I know you do.” Me smiled, taking Courfeyrac’s hand on the center console.  Courfeyrac sighed heavily.

            “I don’t know if I’ll be able to use the…the equipment.  I won’t be able to use droppers or um…pick up small vials.” He finally said.

            “The doctor said most of your motor function will be back to normal within six months. And if not, you could do something else for the company.  You could do a computer job or be a lab assistant.”

            “That’s not…not the, uh…not the same.” He replied.

            “I know…But I know you’ll get better.” He smiled, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it.  Courfeyrac looked out the window as their apartment came into view: a red townhouse with a wraparound porch. Enjolras and Grantaire lived upstairs, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre lived on the lower level, which Courfeyrac was thankful for.

            “It’s a…” he hesitated a moment before continuing.  “It’s a good thing we’re downstairs.” He joked with a smile.

            “You’re right.  I’m not sure if I could carry you” Combeferre replied with a smirk. 

            “You’re a lightweight!” Courfeyrac retorted with a chuckle. Though shorter, Courfeyrac was—or had been—much more muscular than Combeferre.  He wasn’t short, per se, but Combeferre was six-foot-five, and towered above most everyone.  Courfeyrac was well built and strong.  Combeferre was tall and lanky, his tawny skin smooth and thin over his joints. His elbows and knees were all clearly visible, and he often wore long sleeves and pants because of it. He had tried gaining weight, but it just didn’t happen, and Courfeyrac often teased him for it. Even so, Courfeyrac was envious of Combeferre’s smooth, unblemished skin.  His mother was French, but his father was an American Indian, and Combeferre had inherited his father’s complexion, but got his build from his mother; she, too, was tall and thin.  His hair was also his father’s: jet black that shined blue in the sunlight. His eyes were a dark hazel, his eyelashes a mile long.

            “Want the walker thing?” Combeferre asked, parking the car and climbing out. Courfeyrac opened his own door, swinging his legs around with some difficulty.  His motor coordination had not yet returned to normal, but he could walk on his own with a walker on wheels.  He hated it, though.  It made him feel terrible, and made his new disability painfully obvious.  He hoped he would be able to walk without it soon.

            “Can I…try myself?  Er…will you help me? I don’t like the, uh…the walker.” He stammered.  Combeferre smiled.

            “Of course, Mon Amour.” He replied, taking Courfeyrac’s elbows so that he might use his lower arms to support himself in Combeferre’s hands. Courfeyrac slipped from the car seat, standing on his own for a moment before leaning into Combeferre, who walked backwards up the front walkway.  He smiled at every step Courfeyrac took.

            “Uncle Courf is home!” René, Enjolras and Grantaire’s little boy, cooed as he hurried down the front steps.  He scurried down the walkway and gave Courfeyrac a hug, making him stumble into Combeferre. He looked at the little boy with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  He knew he had seen the little boy before, but he couldn’t place him. He couldn’t remember his name. He couldn’t remember how he knew him.

            “That’s René.  Do you remember?” Courfeyrac thought for a long moment. 

            “His hair…It’s like…um…who?  I’ve seen it before…”  He was referring to René’s golden curls, curls he had inherited from Enjolras.

            “Welcome home, Courfeyrac!” Enjolras smiled, picking up René on his back.

            “Enjolras.” Courfeyrac said with a smile.  Combeferre grinned.  He remembered. It appeared as though Courfeyrac just needed to see someone to trigger a memory, which was a good sign. Combeferre didn’t want him to have to re-meet all of his closest friends.  He didn’t want them to forget the memories they had shared.

            “René is your…er…your little kid, right?” Courfeyrac asked Enjolras.

            “He is.” Enjolras smiled.  “He’s missed you very much.”

            “How come you’re hanging onto Uncle Combeferre, Uncle Courf?” René asked. Courfeyrac thought for a long moment before replying.

            “I got pretty hurt, little buddy.” He explained, a lump forming in his throat as memories flooded back to him.  He and René had spent copious amounts of time together, and Courfeyrac loved him. He didn’t want the little boy to see him like this: helpless and dependent. 

            “What happened?” René frowned.

            “Remember I told you, Sunshine?  Uncle Courf was in a car accident.”

            “Did he break his legs?” René asked, noting him Courfeyrac’s knees shook and bent at odd angles as Combeferre held him up.

            “N-no.” Courfeyrac replied, tearing up, though he didn’t know why. Emotions seemed to come in tsunamis, flooding his mind and overwhelming him, even when there was only a mild disturbance.       Enjolras looked to Combeferre for an explanation.

            “Courf’s bumped his head.” He said simply.

            “I bumped my head on the table yesterday.” René said from Enjolras’ back, where he sat happily. 

            “Oh, René…Courfeyrac bumped his head very badly.  His brain got hurt a bit.  He’s sort of…forgotten how to walk.  He’s having some trouble talking too.”

            “I will teach him how to walk again!” René smiled.  Courfeyrac laughed.

            “Thanks, René.”

            “You need to remember though, baby, Courfeyrac is still the same. He still loves you and he’s still the same on the inside.  He’s just having a little trouble getting his words from his mind to his mouth.”

            “I might say…um…funny things. By accident. You’ll have to…do…you’ll have to help me, alright?” he said with some struggle.  René seemed startled at his slurred and labored speech, but nodded anyway.

            “But you’ll get better, right?” René asked.

            “I think so.  The…um…d-doctor. He said, uh…If I…Combeferre what did he say?  If I…something…” he couldn’t remember; he couldn’t find the words.

            “He said to practice.”

            “Yes! That’s the word. Practice.  If I practice, I’ll be back to normal in…um…a-a little while.”

            “I want to help you practice!” René said.

            “Thank you.  You’re very helpful, René.” Courfeyrac smiled, leaning against Combeferre, who held him up, rubbing his back.  “Let’s go…out—I mean…inside.” Courfeyrac said quietly to Combeferre.

            “Alright. Can you walk?”

            “I don’t think I can.” He admitted.  René looked horribly concerned.

            “René, baby, would you go get Papa please?” Enjolras said with a smile, hoping to set René at ease. 

            “Okay!” he hurried back inside as Combeferre guided Courfeyrac down so that he might sit on the grass. 

            “You were up for a long time.” Enjolras said with a smile, sitting beside Courfeyrac.

            “Yeah.” He replied dejectedly. 

            “Do you get tired, or…what happens?  What does it feel like” Enjolras asked, curious.

            “Yeah, I get tired…kind of.  It’s more like I can’t…um…I can’t keep my legs in the right place long enough.”

            “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but can you…concentrate? Think properly in your mind?” he asked.

            “Oh yeah.  I just can’t…um…what? I can’t…Combeferre…”

            “It’s a cognitive problem.”  Combeferre said. “He can think properly, he’s the same in his brain.  Like, he knows what he wants to say and knows how to say it, he just can’t get the message from his brain to his mouth…like you told René. There really isn’t any simpler way to put it…” he shrugged.  “Same with the motor skills.  He knows what he wants to do, he just can’t do it.  Not yet.” He nuzzled his nose against Courfeyrac’s cheek and kissed him when he turned.

            “I can still make out just fine.” Courfeyrac chuckled.  Combeferre laughed.

            “Yup. Still Courfeyrac.” Enjolras joked.

            A moment later, Grantaire came out the front door accompanied by René. He smiled when he saw Courfeyrac sitting on the grass.

            “Hey I missed you!  You doing okay?”

            “Yeah, I just can’t make it inside.” He smiled.  “I thought I could, but I guess not.  And …um…Combeferre’s too much of a lightweight to carry me in.” he smirked to Combeferre.

            “Oh I can do that.” Grantaire smiled.  “Here just like…can you put your arms around my neck so I can pick you up?”

            “Yeah.” Courfeyrac did so, and Grantaire hoisted him up, holding him behind the back and under his knees.

            “Thanks, R.” he said with a sigh, embarrassed.

            “Any time.” He replied with a smile.  Combeferre held the door for Grantaire, and he and Courfeyrac headed inside, where Grantaire placed Courfeyrac down on the couch.

            “Can we watch a video?!” René asked, bouncing up onto the couch beside Courfeyrac and snuggling up against his arm, how he had always done.

            “Sunshine, Uncle Courf isn’t feeling too well—” Enjolras attempted.

            “No it’s okay.” Courfeyrac said with a smile, draping his arm around René and rubbing at his golden hair.  “We can watch a movie.  What do you…um…w-what do you want to watch?” he asked.

            “You pick.” He said with a little smile, missing one of his bottom baby teeth.

            “Wow you lost a…um…a tooth!” Courfeyrac said, trying to sound enthused. Emotion wasn’t coming easily to him since the accident, but he didn’t want René to think he was disinterested. Losing a tooth is a big deal for someone as little as René.  He was only five years old, after all.

            “Yup I lost it two days ago!” he cooed, shoving his tongue up against the gap.

            “What did the tooth fairy give you?” he asked.  Enjolras smiled.  Courfeyrac almost sounded normal again, when he was talking to René. He hoped he would recover fully; they all did.

            “I got a euro and Uncle Jehan gave me a sparkly pen with a flower at the end!” René chortled, nearly bouncing into Courfeyrac’s lap. He held him there, bouncing the little boy on his knees.

            “That’s awesome!” he said with a smile.

            “Can we put in a video now?” René asked.

            “We still have your Totoro DVD from last time you came over, René.” Combeferre said, taking the box off the coffee table.

            “Let’s watch that.  You like that.” Courfeyrac said with a smile.

            “Yes!” René piped.  Enjolras smiled, leaning into Grantaire.

            “We’ll head upstairs and make dinner.  We’ll bring it down, okay?” Enjolras said.

            “Alright!” Combeferre replied with a grin, putting the movie into the DVD player.

 

—o0o—

 

After about an hour, Enjolras and Grantaire came back into Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s apartment carrying multiple bowls, one of Grantaire’s scratch-made ravioli, one of a massive, colorful salad, and a final bowl full of sugared strawberries.

            “You guys didn’t…um…have to do that.” Courfeyrac stammered, rubbing René’s back. He had fallen asleep in his lap, his little thumb in his mouth.

            “It looks great, though.” Combeferre added, taking the ceramic pasta bowl from Grantaire and placing it on the table.  Courfeyrac nudged René awake with a smile.

            “Suppertime, René.” He said.

            “Okay!”

            “Want to sit there or at the table, Courf?” Combeferre asked.

            “Um…the table.  I want to sit with…e-everyone.”

            “Can I help you stand up, Uncle Courf?!” René asked, popping up off the sofa as Combeferre took Courfeyrac by the wrists, Courfeyrac gripping his as best he could.

            “Sure you can.” Courfeyrac smiled as Combeferre hoisted him up to standing. He offered René his hand once he caught his balance.  Enjolras snapped a picture.

            Together, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and René walked to the table, slowly but surely, and they all sat at the table together.

           

The happy gathering soon turned slightly sour, however, when Courfeyrac found holding his fork impossible.  He kept dropping it into his pasta, getting the handle slippery with sauce, only worsening the problem.  René was sitting just to his side, and frowned every time he heart Courfeyrac’s fork clatter against his bowl.

            “Want help?” Combeferre asked quietly.  Courfeyrac sighed heavily, embarrassed.

            “I’ll help!” René said, using his fork to clumsily cut one of Courfeyrac’s raviolis in half—how Enjolras had done for him before serving him—and stuck a piece with his own fork.  Courfeyrac laughed and gladly opened his mouth when René cooed: “Choo! choo!”

            “Thank you, René!” Courfeyrac chuckled.

            “Let Combeferre help Courf, okay Little Man?” Grantaire said with a smile from across the table. 

            “That was very nice of you though, René.” Enjolras added with a smile. Courfeyrac leaned into Combeferre and let himself be fed, though it was embarrassing.  He knew he was surrounded by friends, and that he had nothing to be ashamed of.  He recalled all of the times Grantaire had held Enjolras down, forcing him to eat when he had anorexia in college.  He remembered poor Jehan, sitting and shaking in Feuilly’s lap, unable to hold his fork when he was going through chemo for his Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  Sometimes, you needed help, and nobody was judging him.

            “You’re doing a good job, Uncle Courf!” René cooed with a smile, trying to make Courfeyrac smile.  He missed his uncle’s joyous face, and wanted him to be happy again.  Courfeyrac smiled at him.

            “Thank you, René.  I’m trying really, really hard.” He admitted.

 

—o0o—

 

            “It’s alright, Courfeyrac!  Just put your hands on my shoulders, and—”

            “No, I…”

            “Don’t be embarrassed, Mon Amour.” Combeferre said, kneeling beside Courfeyrac as he sat on the toilet seat cover.  “There’s a folding chair in the shower.  I just need to help you get undressed, then you can shower yourself. Alright?”

            “This is just so embarrassing.  I feel like a toddler.”

            “Don’t be embarrassed.  Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He smirked.

            “Shut up!” Courfeyrac ran his fingers though Combeferre’s thick ebony hair, his hands shaking.  Combeferre took his hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing his fingertips.  Courfeyrac leaned down and kissed his hair, taking in his woodsy scent. 

            “I have an idea.” Courfeyrac said with a smile. 

            “And what is that, Mon Amour?” Combeferre asked softly.

            “I think a bath might be better than a shower.” He replied with a smile.

            “Alright.” Combeferre said, making to stand and start the bathtub, taking Courfeyrac a bit more seriously than he meant.  Courfeyrac grabbed his hand and stayed him.

            “You’re going to have to…h-help me.” Courfeyrac added with a raise of his eyebrows and a sparkle in his eye.

            “Oh…I see.” Combeferre said with a grin, crouching back down to Courfeyrac’s level. “I think that is a lovely idea.” He slipped his hands under Courfeyrac’s sweatshirt, running his careful fingers over Courfeyrac’s taught middle, scratching lightly at his sides before reaching up and removing his shirt altogether.  He ran his hand down Courfeyrac’s cheek.  “You need a shave, My Darling.” He said, running his own cheek over Courfeyrac’s thick stubble.

            “You’ll have to...um…help me with the razor.”

            “Always, Mon Amour.” He said, kissing him and helping him stand. Courfeyrac allowed himself to be stripped and helped into the bathtub.  Combeferre undressed himself as well and settled in behind Courfeyrac in the soothing water.  He leaned over Courfeyrac’s shoulder.  “I see everything is in working order.” He joked with a smirk.  Courfeyrac splashed him before laughing and leaning back against him.

            “T-this isn’t so bad.” Courfeyrac said with a smile, closing his eyes as he leaned against Courfeyrac’s chest.

            “Not so bad at all, Darling.” He replied, running his lathered fingers through Courfeyrac’s honey hair.


	3. Chapter 3

A month passed, and slowly the surely, Courfeyrac was returning to a state of normalcy.  His speech patterns were almost completely normal, and he could stand on his own.  He was even able to get himself around in a wheelchair.  He had even returned to spending Mondays with René, which overjoyed him.

            Courfeyrac was babysitting René one morning, a Monday, while Enjolras was in court. Grantaire was home, but he was working on a series of oil paintings and didn’t want René exposed to the fumes or turpentine.

            Courfeyrac sat on the couch while René knelt on the floor, both of them leaning over a checkerboard.  It was René’s turn, and he contemplated his little red pieces. 

            “Can I do this?” René asked, taking one of his red checkers and hopping over two of Courfeyrac’s.

            “Nope. You can only jump over one at a time.” Courfeyrac explained.  Like…you could do this if you wanted to.” He showed René another place to jump his checker, and René smiled.

            “I got your checker!” he cooed.

            “Oh no!  You’re beating me!” Courfeyrac replied with a grin.  René giggled. Courfeyrac moved one of his pieces, intentionally ignoring the triple-jump he could have taken over René’s pieces, to set up René for another move.  René didn’t see it at first, but soon jumped over Courfeyrac’s piece with a grin.

            “I’m winning!” he cooed.

            “You are winning!” Courfeyrac agreed.

            “Uncle Courf can I get crackers?” René asked. 

Combeferre had a secret. He was addicted to animal crackers. They always had boxes and boxes of animal crackers, and René often tapped into their supply. Combeferre usually retrieved them for René, but today, Combeferre was at work, and René had to get them himself.

“Sure. Go for it.” Courfeyrac smiled. “They’re in the cupboard.”

“Okay!” René hopped to the small door beside the refrigerator and opened it.  Though the crackers were at eye level for the average adult, they were much too high for René to reach on his own, but he knew Courfeyrac couldn’t stand to help him.  He would have to do it himself.  He stepped up onto the bottom shelf, climbing up the cupboard in an attempt to reach the coveted animal crackers.  What he didn’t realize was that the shelves were only wire, and that too much weight would easily pop them off of the wall.  Courfeyrac heard the creaking of the shelves and looked over to René.

“René no!” he called, but the shelf he was holding had already shifted, René suddenly paralyzed with fear. Though he wasn’t very high up, René had broken his arm before, and did not want to do it again.

“I can’t get down.” the baby cooed, his chest heaving with tears.  Courfeyrac was in a jam.  There was no way he could get into his wheelchair fast enough, but he had to do something quick.

It was only a few feet. He would have to walk it.

After a quick deep breath, he used his arms to push himself up off the sofa, just as the shelf shifted farther forward.  A box of cereal slid down the shelf, hitting René’s little hands as he clutched at the wire, crying.

“Uncle Courf!” he squeaked, tears running down his face.

“I’m coming, René, just a second. It’s okay.”  Courfeyrac called, doing his best to shuffle into the kitchen, but he wasn’t fast enough.  He knew he had to pick it up, or else René would fall.  He lifted his foot and took a step, stumbling terribly and using the kitchen table to support himself.  He was near tears himself, feeling terribly about not being able to help the little boy. He took another step, grabbed René just before the shelf clattered to the floor, and managed to get René safely to the floor before slipping on his socks and falling flat on his front, banging his elbow on the table on the way down. 

“Uncle Courf I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“René it’s okay.” Courfeyrac’s voice was strained with pain.  He rolled onto his side.  “I’m okay, Little Buddy, but I need you to go upstairs and get your Papa.” He explained.

“Papa says I can’t go into his room when he’s painting though.” René said with a frown.

“René you need to go get your Papa.  This is an emergency, okay?”

“A ‘mergency?!” René shouted. To René, an emergency fell under the category of massive, life changing events, such as fires or floods or times you needed to call the police.  Enjolras had stressed the importance of making sure a situation was serious before calling the 211 for help.  René knew this must be serious if Courfeyrac had used the word ‘emergency’.

“Yes. You need to get your Papa to help me, okay?”

“Okay.” René agreed with a nod, hurrying from the house and upstairs to his own door, opening it and shouting, “Papa!”  Grantaire came running, his hands covered in paint.

“Hey Sunshine. You’re supposed to be with Courf.” He said, crouching down to look René in the face, kissing his golden curls.

“Uncle Courf is in a ‘mergency and you have to help him.” René explained frantically, waving his arms about.

“Is everything okay?” Grantaire asked, running back into his small studio area and quickly washing his hands down with turpentine, cleaning off the paint.  He then washed it off in the sink.

“No he fell down and you have to help him it’s a _‘mergency_!” he stressed, nearly jumping up and down hysterically. 

“Oh shit okay.” He said throwing open the door and jumping down the stairs as fast as he possibly could. Grantaire never swore in front of René. This must have been truly serious to warrant a swear word, René thought.  He scurried back into his house and took the telephone off the counter, dialing 211 for the police.

“211 emergency, how can we be of assistance?” a woman on the end of the line asked.

“My Uncle Courf fell down and it’s a ‘mergency.” He explained.

“Alright. Do you know what your address is?” she asked, realizing René was a very little boy.  “What number is your house?”

“Um… Bastille street…” he struggled.  He was not expecting to be asked so many questions.

“Do you know the number on your house?” René began to cry.

“I don’t remember! But it’s a _‘mergency_!”

“I know. Can you tell me your name?”

“René.” He replied weakly.

“Can you tell me your mommy or daddy’s name?”

“My daddy is Enjolras and my Papa is Grantaire.”

“Okay. You’re doing a very good job, René. Where is your daddy right now?”

“He’s at work and Papa is helping Uncle Courf.”

“Can you give your Papa the phone?”

“No he’s downstairs at Uncle Courf’s house!” he explained.

“Okay. René I need you to tell me what color your house is.  Can you do that for me?”

“It’s red!” he replied.

“Good job. Is there a number on your mailbox or your door?”

“There’s a 2 on the outside of the door…”

“That’s your house number! Good job, René. We’re going to send help to your uncle right away.  I’m going to hang up the phone now, okay?”

“Okay.” René said with a little smile, pleased with himself for getting help all on his own.

…what he didn’t realize was that the help was unnecessary.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire opened Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s door.

“Courf?!” he called.

“I’m here.” He replied. “In the kitchen.” Grantaire came running.

“Oh God what happened?” he asked, lifting Courfeyrac into a sitting position.  “Are you hurt?”

“No. No I’m alright. I just fell.”

“What were you doing walking around?” Grantaire asked, lifting up Courfeyrac and laying him down on the couch.  René peeked through the door.

“Is Uncle Courf better?” he asked, blinking his watery blue eyes.

“I’m okay, René. Thank you!  You were very brave to get your Papa for me.” He smiled, offering his hand to the little boy.  René took it and held it with a smile as Courfeyrac lay on the sofa.

“Did you hit your head or anything?” Grantaire asked, concerned.  “What were you doing, anyway?”

“I didn’t hit my head. René couldn’t reach something in the cupboard and tried to climb up the shelves.” Courfeyrac explained. Grantaire looked to René, a warning look in his eyes.

“René, you know better than that.  Courfeyrac could have gotten very hurt!” he scolded.  René began to cry quietly.

“It wasn’t his fault.” Courfeyrac pulled René closer and wiped his eyes.  “I just didn’t want him to fall.  I couldn’t get the chair fast enough.  I’d rather me get hurt again than have him get hurt.” He gave Grantaire a meek smile.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Grantaire asked again.

“I’m fine. I just couldn’t get up myself.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Putting the shelf back would be much appreciated.” He said.

“I’ll help!” René cooed.

“Thanks, Little Buddy.” Courfeyrac smiled.  René collected the boxes of cereal and put them on the counter, holding the box of animal crackers and eating them one by one as Grantaire snapped the shelf back into place. In no time at all, the kitchen was put back together.

 

That was when Grantaire heard the sirens coming up the street.  Within seconds, there was a cop, three paramedics, and a firefighter at the door.

            “Hey.” Grantaire said with a little wave.

            “We received a call stating that someone fell and needed assistance.”

            “Uh…Courf fell, but everything’s okay…I don’t think anyone called from here.” Grantaire explained.  René started to cry.

            “This is 2 Bastille, correct?” the officer asked.

            “It is…” Grantaire replied as René tugged at his sleeve.

            “Papa!” he cried.

            “Just a minute René.  I think there must have been a mistake—”

            “Daddy I called 211!  Uncle Courf said it was a ‘mergency and Daddy told me to call 211 only when there was a ‘mergency! I sorry I didn’t mean it I sorry!” he bawled, positively sure everyone would be angry with him.  The paramedic laughed.  Grantaire picked up René and gave him a hug.  Courfeyrac was chuckling on the sofa where he was still laying down.

            “I assume you don’t need any assistance, then.” The officer said with a smile.

            “No. Thank you.  Sorry about that.” Grantaire said with a smile. The paramedics, police officer, and fire fighter left, and Grantaire gave René a hug as he cried into his papa’s shirt.

            “I sorry, Papa!” René cried.

            “Oh it’s okay Sunshine,” Grantaire soothed him, sitting down on the armchair. “Everybody makes mistakes sometimes. You were very brave to call for help, but sometimes, Daddy and Papa can handle it by ourselves, do you understand?” René nodded.  Enjolras burst through the door, still in his suit from work, out of breath.

            “What happened?!  The cop at the courthouse got a call on his phone that said there was a call from Bastille number 2!”

            “Everything’s okay.” Courfeyrac said, finally able to sit up. 

            “Courf fell and—”

            “Oh my God are you alright?” Enjolras asked, his eyes wide.

            “I’m fine.  I told René to run and get Grantaire, and—”

            “And Uncle Courf said it was a _‘mergency_!” René clarified.

            “And René thought we needed a little extra help…So he called the 211.” Grantaire smiled meekly.  Enjolras sighed, relieved.

            “Oh goodness…Come here, René.” He took René and gave him a hug.

            “I sorry, Daddy.” He said with a small frown, playing with Enjolras’ ponytail.

            “That’s okay, René.  Just make sure you don’t call the 211 unless you’re positively positive there’s an emergency.”

            “Mm hm.” René said, snuggling up in Enjolras’ arms.

            “You’re getting too big for me to be holding you!” Enjolras said, setting the little boy down.

            “No not too big!” René cooed, taking his daddy’s hands.

            “Not too big!” Grantaire said, scooping René up from behind and tossing him over his shoulder.  René laughed. Courfeyrac smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Combeferre came in from work, the first day he had gone in since the accident.  He found Courfeyrac laying on the couch, the History Channel on the TV though he was asleep. Combeferre smiled, sitting down on the edge of the couch beside him, placing a gentle hand on his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes.  Courfeyrac’s yes fluttered open, and he smiled when he saw Combeferre.

            “Hey.” Combeferre cooed.  “How was you day?”

            “It was nice,” he admitted, “but I missed you.”  He sat up, his arm shaking under his body weight, still just a tad weak.  He could not yet walk on his own, but had managed to successfully get through the day without Combeferre, and was proud of himself. 

            “Did you have lunch?” Combeferre asked, standing and taking off his lab coat. He tossed it over the back of the armchair before heading over to the kitchen, planning on cleaning up a bit.

            “Yup.”

            “Did you do the dishes, Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asked, turning around when he saw the clean kitchen.  Courfeyrac nodded, and Combeferre grinned, sitting beside him and pulling him into a hug.

            “You, Mon Amour, are remarkable.” He said.

            “It wasn’t so bad.” He smiled.

            “You are wonderful.  Want to go out for dinner?”  he asked. Courfeyrac shrugged, leaning into Combeferre.

            “No?” Combeferre asked, taking Courfeyrac’s chin and tilting his head up to look him in the eyes.

            “We haven’t gone out anywhere since…the uh…car accident.” He replied. Combeferre combed his hair back soothingly, holding Courfeyrac close.

            “That’s why I think it might be a good idea to go.  Get you out a little bit.”  Courfeyrac nodded.

            “I’m going to need help getting changed.” 

            “Then I will help you.” he smiled.

            “I guess I can handle that.” Courfeyrac replied, somewhat meekly. Though it had been over a month, Courfeyrac still wasn’t too keen on being helped with things like changing clothes and using the bathroom.  It was completely understandable, and Combeferre was sure not to make a big deal out of it, but Courfeyrac was apprehensive.  In fact, he stayed in his pajamas most of the day, and spent copious amounts of time on the sofa.  He had been relatively depressed, and it’s difficult to cheer yourself up when you can only wheel yourself around an apartment for fun.  The problem was, his depression made him lethargic and tired, so that when someone did offer to take him out, he had no desire.  It was a vicious cycle: he was bound to a wheelchair, so he sat on the sofa all day.  Sitting on the sofa made him bored.  Boredom became depression.  Depression made him want to sleep and do nothing.  Doing nothing made him more depressed.

            “Good. Now come.” Combeferre smiled, helping Courfeyrac into his wheelchair and to the bedroom. He helped him stand up, his legs shaky, and lead him over to the bed, letting Courfeyrac use him for balance. Once safely seated again, Courfeyrac took off his sweatshirt.  He looked down at his bare middle and made a face.

            “I’m getting fat, ‘Ferre.” He said. Combeferre sat beside him with a stack of folded clothes.

            “No you are not!  You’re perfect.” He kissed his nose.  “You actually look thin to me…” he said with a bit of a frown, suddenly becoming serious. Though Courfeyrac no longer boasted immaculate abdominals, and his arms had become less muscular, it wasn’t from weight gain.  It was from weakening of his body from disuse.  He looked thin, almost stretched, and he was mistaking his lack of visible strength as weight gain.

            “You think so?” he asked, suddenly a bit startled.  Enjolras had nearly died of anorexia twice since Courfeyrac’s known him, and he always worried he’d do the same thing, though he had no other symptoms.

            “I think you’re just a little weak.” Combeferre replied truthfully. “I also believe that as soon as you’re well and start working out again, you’ll look just the same.” He smiled.

            “If I ever get better…” he mumbled.

            “Mon Amour, don’t you ever think that way.  You will get better.  You’ve already gotten better.  Now come, I’ll help you get dressed.  Give me your arm.” He guided Courfeyrac’s shaking arm through the sleeves of his shirt.  Courfeyrac tried the buttons himself, but found that his fingers were stiff, in a way.  He had become accustomed to having little use of his fingers for delicate things, but he tried every day, nonetheless.  He was always just a tad discouraged when he couldn’t button his shirt, but every day, Combeferre would take his hands and hold them, and he would kiss his fingertips before helping him.  Today was no different.

            “Thanks.” Courfeyrac said meekly as Combeferre helped him step out of his flannel pajama pants and into a proper pair of jeans.

            “Never a problem, my love.” He replied with a genuine, loving smile. Those smiles always brought Courfeyrac back to a sunnier place.  Those smiles proved to him that Combeferre did love him, and that was all he needed to know.

           

 

“Where are we going?” Courfeyrac asked, letting Combeferre push him along down the sidewalk. They avoided driving whenever possible for obvious reasons, and there were plenty of restaurants nearby, close enough to walk.

“Oh I don’t know…perhaps Mr. Valjean’s?” he suggested. 

“We haven’t seen Cosette and Marius for a while…” Courfeyrac agreed.

“That’s where we’ll go, then.” Combeferre smiled as Courfeyrac reached back and held his hand on the handle of the wheelchair.

They were quiet for quite a while, until a group of young women passed them on the sidewalk.

Courfeyrac had been quite the ladies’ man for most of his life.  He was always with a girlfriend in high school and most of his early years of college, and was still a terrible flirt.  Courfeyrac used to hate taking him to bars and parties, because he always worried Courfeyrac would find someone he liked better and go off with them somewhere.  He never did, and Combeferre always felt quietly guilty that he hadn’t trusted Courfeyrac, but the worry was still there, however small, in the back of his mind.

They hadn’t been out much since the accident, and Combeferre was secretly, _almost_ glad for the wheelchair.  It made him feel terribly to think it, but he hated it when girls flocked him. Courfeyrac was like a magnet for women. They always seemed to find him, and he always went right along with it.  Combeferre remembered being angry before he and Courfeyrac had started going out. Courfeyrac would give him hugs and playful little whacks on the arm.  He would look at him, then look away with a blush and a small smile; but the moment Combeferre became brave enough to reciprocate, Courfeyrac’s interest would seem to dissolve.  It was so very bizarre, and Combeferre was truly surprised when Courfeyrac finally asked him on a date.

Though Courfeyrac appeared a bit sickly and was sitting in a wheelchair, the women swarmed him anyway, fawning over him.

“Oh what happened?” a passing woman asked. 

“Car accident.” Courfeyrac explained with a meek sort of smile.  She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh goodness you poor thing!”

“I’m okay.” He replied. Combeferre was surprised by his aloofness.  He didn’t seem interested the way he usually did—not so keen on flirting or getting attention.

“Do you take care of him?” the girl asked, looking up at Combeferre.  He blushed, unsure what to say.

Combeferre wasn’t especially attractive in the traditional sense.  He had a nice face, with a long, thin nose and high cheekbones, but besides that, he was a bit odd.  He wore massive glasses, which covered much of his handsome face, and he was tall and gangly. His hands were huge—too big for the rest of him—and his style of dress could be described as ‘librarian chic’ on a good day.

“I…Yes.” He replied with a smile.

“Aren’t you sweet! You’re a nurse?” She asked Combeferre.

“I’m a doctor, but—”

“Oh sweetie you must be in bad shape to need a doctor with you.” she said to Courfeyrac.

“He’s a doctor, but he’s not _my_ doctor!” Courfeyrac laughed. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh goodness I’m so embarrassed.” The girl said with a giggle. “I’m so stupid I was going to ask if you wanted my number!”  She looked to Combeferre, who found himself blushing again.  Nobody had ever given him their number before.

“Sorry!” he replied. “I am flattered, though…thank you for the offer.”

“Aren’t you cute! Have fun on your walk!” She passed, continuing her own walk. Combeferre grinned down to Courfeyrac, who was still laughing.

“You are a magnet for pretty girls, Mon Amour.”

“If I heard correctly, she wanted _your_ number, not mine.” Courfeyrac replied.

“That’s only because you were so quiet…” Combeferre admitted somewhat meekly.

“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac asked, noting Combeferre’s change in demeanor. 

“You…You usually…well…you’re usually quite flirtatious.” He replied truthfully.

“I know. And I know it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me, it’s just—”

“I can tell it bothers you. So I stopped.”

“Really? Have I been harsh? I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to feel badly…”

“Combeferre,” he said, taking his hand again.  “I love you. You didn’t make me realize…I realized on my own.  We’ve been together for so many years.  It’s not right for me to…sort of…talk to other people like that.  Only you.” he smiled.

“Oh Courfeyrac, you’re so terribly sappy!” Combeferre chuckled, pushing off with his foot and standing on the back bar of Courfeyrac’s wheelchair.  “And I love it.” He smiled.

“And I love you.” Courfeyrac replied as they walked up to the 24601st, Mr. Valjean’s restaurant. 

Many people wondered about the name of the place.  24601st? What does that mean? They asked very often, but Mr. Valjean rarely told why he had chosen that seemingly random sequence of numbers for the name of his restaurant.  He did, however, Combeferre when he asked, calling him ‘a reasonable and responsible young man’.  The reason for the name was this:

Few knew it, but Mr. Jean Valjean had been wrongly convicted of armed robbery.  He spent almost twenty years in prison for it, and there, his prison identification number was 24601.  It was an important number to him, and a reminder of the way in which he had turned his life around.  His success was essentially written in code across the top of his restaurant.

He met them at the door when they approached, concerned for Courfeyrac.  Cosette and Marius had told him what happened, but he had not yet seen Courfeyrac or Combeferre since the accident.

“Friends,” he said with a smile, offering Combeferre a hug and Courfeyrac a handshake. “I’m glad to see you out and about! Are you very well, Courfeyrac?” he asked, his blue eyes bright.

“I’m doing alright. I can’t walk quite yet, and I stumble over words occasionally, but I’m doing much better.” He smiled as Mr. Valjean lead them to a booth in the corner.  It had been more or less dubbed ‘the table Marius’ friends sit at’ by Valjean, and he usually kept it empty for them.

Courfeyrac used his shaking arms and help from Combeferre to scoot from his wheelchair to the booth.

“Your usual, I suspect.” Valjean said with a grin.

“That would be wonderful.” Combeferre smiled.

“Marius will be out in just a bit.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” Courfeyrac grinned, looking forward to ‘the usual’: a grilled cheese sandwich with a slice of tomato, ham, and a side of sweet potato fries.  The grilled cheese had been his favorite thing since he was a kid, and he still ordered it all the time.  Combeferre was only slightly more adult, opting for a Florentine quiche. His mother used to make it often, and Mr. Valjean’s was the closest he had ever gotten to hers, without her making it herself, of course.  After dinner, they always split a slice of coconut cake.

“Hey you guys!” Marius said with a smile, carrying a large tray with their dishes and glasses of water. He held it with two hands, not the typical one-handed form used by waiters.  Valjean found out early that Marius couldn’t be trusted not to trip and spill everything, and decided two handed tray-holding was probably best.

“Hey Marius.” Courfeyrac said, returning the grin.

“You doing okay? It’s good to see you out. We were so worried about you!”

“I’m alright…I can’t walk yet, but hopefully that’ll uh…get better soon.  Sometimes I still can’t think of words and stuff either, but I’m getting better.”

“Good. We missed you. Here, have your grilled cheese, you four year old.” He joked, handing Courfeyrac his plate.  Combeferre laughed.  Marius was usually the one getting teased, and did his best to tease back whenever he could.  He wasn’t very good at it, though.  He was just too sweet.

“Shut up, Marius.” Courfeyrac joked in reply.  Marius blushed and shrugged.

“I’m not good at teasing people.” He chuckled.

“That’s okay. We like you anyway.” Combeferre said, receiving his delicate quiche with a smile.

“I’ll be back with your coconut cake in a bit, okay?” he said.

“Thanks, Kiddo.” Courfeyrac grinned.

 

—o0o—

 

Later that evening, Courfeyrac and Combeferre snuggled up on the sofa, flipping channels idly and enjoying each other’s company. After some time, Courfeyrac sighed and took Combeferre’s hand, prompting Combeferre to cast his eyes towards him, puzzled.

            “Is everything alright, Mon Amour?” he asked.

            “Yeah, I just…Was thinking…”

            “What about, my love?”

            “You.” Combeferre frowned slightly, worried.

            “What about me?  Have I done something to upset you?  I did not mean—”

            “Of course not!” Courfeyrac broke in with a chuckle after quieting him with a quick kiss.

            “Than what?” Combeferre replied, his smile returning.

            “I was just thinking about when was the best time to give you something.”

            “Like what sort of something?” Combeferre asked, nuzzling his nose against Courfeyrac’s cheek.

            “It’s not a very exciting sort of something…Sorry.” Courfeyrac said, knowing what Combeferre was thinking. 

            “Anything from you is a wonderful gift.” He replied with a warm smile.

            “I guess I can give it to you now…I was going to give it to you at dinner, but I sort of wanted to be alone, you know?  You like it when it’s just us.”

            “I do.” Combeferre replied.  Combeferre was a quiet sort of soul, and wasn’t one for public displays of affection or showiness. He appreciated the thought.

            “So…here, I guess.” Courfeyrac chuckled, reaching into his pocket and handing Combeferre a small velvet ring box, which he opened with a curious sort of look in his pale hazel eyes.  He smiled, revealing two matching rings, plain silver bands.  Engraved on the inside in Courfeyrac’s somewhat scribbly writing read: “With You, my World has Started”.

            “Courfeyrac these are beautiful.” Combeferre cooed, taking Courfeyrac’s hand and slipping the larger of the two rings onto his finger.  Courfeyrac took the other and did the same for Combeferre’s thin finger, his ring quite small.  “When did you get these?”

            “Before…everything.” He replied, giving his hand a bit of a dismissive wave. “I was going to give it to you on our five year anniversary, but I was in a coma.” He said meekly, making a bit of a joke of it.  “After that, I forgot for a bit…Sorry…”

            “Do not be sorry, Mon Amour.  I am just happy to have you.” he smiled, giving Courfeyrac a kiss before holding his hand out and admiring the simple silver band he wore on his right ring finger. “It’s such a lovely idea, matching rings…”

            “It was sort of Cosette’s idea…She sent me a picture of one she was going to get Marius, and I thought maybe…we could get them too.”

            “It is such a sweet thought.”

            “Not as sweet as an engagement ring…” Courfeyrac said somewhat sadly. “Everyone’s married but us, but…We can’t do it now.  Not with the medical bills.”

            “Not to worry, Mon Amour.  I love you just the same.  We don’t need to be married to know we love each other.” He pressed a kiss to Courfeyrac’s hairline.

            “I just…I want to.  I do, I want to so badly, and I wish money weren’t the issue.”

            “Well…let’s just do it, then.  We’ll hardly spend anything.  We’ll be married this weekend.” Combeferre smiled, taking out his cell phone and typing out a text to tell everyone the news.

            “What do you mean?  We can’t just throw a wedding together!”

            “Sure we can!  We’ll go to town hall, get a justice of the peace, and then we’ll have a wedding party in Jehan’s back yard.  I’m sure he won’t mind!”

            “Combeferre!” Courfeyrac laughed as Combeferre lifted him up bridal style and spun him around, then hurried into their bedroom where he placed Courfeyrac down gently on the comforter before lowering himself down, his arms on either side of Courfeyrac’s shoulders, and giving him a long, loving kiss.

 _“Je vous aimerai pour toujours”_ Combeferre whispered.  He always spoke the most beautifully while telling Courfeyrac he loved him. _“Nous serons toujours ensemble._ _Je t'aime tellement…”_ He added smoothly.  There was something about Combeferre speaking that way—that perfect French—that made Courfeyrac melt.  Not that they didn’t usually speak French…It wasn’t anything different…it was just the way his voice became slow and creamy when he was feeling particularly loving.

            “This is so strange.” Courfeyrac said as he looked up into Combeferre’s eyes.

            “What is that, Mon Amour?” Combeferre asked.

            “I’m usually the one up there, and you’re usually down here on the bed.” He smiled.  It was true that, before the accident, Courfeyrac had usually been the instigator of loving gestures of that nature.

            “Well let us even the score, then.” Combeferre smiled, laying down beside Courfeyrac and snuggling up close to him, how they used to.  Though Combeferre was very tall, he was always the ‘little spoon’.

            “You’re so sappy, you know that?” Courfeyrac said, holding Combeferre snugly against his chest.

            “It is a good thing you like sappiness, then.” Combeferre replied, sitting up and taking his shirt off for bed.  He stretched his arms over his head, the large, detailed moth he had tattooed across his upper back and shoulder blades moved with him fluidly. He peeled back the covers enough for both him and Courfeyrac to slide underneath, and resumed their snuggle session. Combeferre’s phone buzzed.

            “Jehan says your flowers are taken care of.  He also said it would be a dream come true for Lyle if we let him be our flower girl.” He whispered. Courfeyrac laughed.

            “I guess we have our flower girl, then.”

            “Guess so!”

 

 

 

~ALL THE WEDDINGS  
  
Lyle will be so glad to finally be a flower girl!


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Tuesday, Courfeyrac woke up feeling very weak.  He could hardly sit up to look for Combeferre, who was getting dressed for work on the other side of the room.

            “Good morning, Mon Amour.” Combeferre said with a smile when he realized Courfeyrac was awake.  He leaned over the edge of the bed, his button down shirt still hanging off his skinny shoulders, and kissed him gently, holding his chin in his willowy hand, the new silver ring cool against Courfeyrac’s jaw.  The moment Combeferre pulled away, Courfeyrac laid back down with a heavy sigh.  Combeferre’s smile was suddenly replaced with concern.

            “What is wrong, Mon Amour?” he asked, sitting beside Courfeyrac on the bed, running his hand through his curly hair.

            “I don’t…um…fell well…weak, I mean.” He tried to explain, finding speaking difficult again.  It wasn’t unusual for him to have bad days, and Combeferre wasn’t especially worried, but he did cover Courfeyrac’s bare torso with the comforter before standing and taking off his shirt, hanging it back up in the closet and instead pulling on a t shirt.

            “What are you doing?” Courfeyrac asked.

            “I’ll stay home with you today.” He replied with a smile.  “The hospital knows what happened.  They told me I can take off whenever I need to until you’re well again.”

            “You don’t have to—” Combeferre silenced him with a light kiss to his top lip.

            “I do not mind, Courfeyrac.  I’d much rather be here with you.  Would you like a cup of tea?”  Courfeyrac nodded, his eyelids heavy as Combeferre stood, his weight lifting from the bed making Courfeyrac feel somehow empty.  He was glad when he returned, handing him a big mug of tea with thick walls, pale and creamy, with lots of milk and sugar, just how he liked it.  Combeferre sat with his own, lemon honey concoction, dunking the rubber-duckie shaped tea infuser in and out of the hot water with a smile.

            “Your boss isn’t mad?” Courfeyrac asked after taking a sip, Combeferre helping him sit up.

            “Not at all, My Love.  He said he hopes that you’re well soon.” He set his mug down on the bedside table and ran his hand through Courfeyrac’s honey hair with a smile, and Courfeyrac ran his hand down Combeferre’s cheek.

            “Your skin is so nice and…smooth.” He said with a little grin. “It’s a nice color.” Combeferre blushed.

            Combeferre had been self conscious of his looks ever since he and his family moved from America to France when he was three.  His mother and father met when his mother went to study abroad in the US. She met his father when she traveled to South Dakota on a mission trip to help the impoverished Ogalala Sioux reservation.  His father was the son of a family whose house was being rebuilt.  They quickly fell in love, and were married within the year, but after a few years, they decided that they would have a better life back in France with his mother’s family instead of on the reservation, where his father’s job had been eliminated.  Combeferre’s first language was English, his second Lakota, which his father spoke. He didn’t learn French until he was almost four.  That, on top of his ‘outlandish’ appearance set him apart from his French peers.  His skin was dark and ruddy, a beautiful chestnut color, and his bright, light eyes were greatly offset by his darker complexion. His hair was thick and black with light waves Courfeyrac loved to run his fingers through.  He wore glasses, as well, and his prescription was far too extreme for contacts.  At first glance, he was a bit awkward, but Courfeyrac loved him dearly, and that’s all Combeferre needed.

            “I do not know about that!” Combeferre smiled.  “It is dark…I like your freckles.” He gave Courfeyrac a loving tap on the nose, where most of his freckles resided.  He laughed, taking another sip of his sugary tea.  “I am glad to see you laugh, Mon Amour.”

            “I’m glad you make me laugh!” Courfeyrac replied.

            “Would you like to come shopping with me, then?  Just to the grocery store, if you’re feeling well enough.” Combeferre suggested. 

            “Um…I don’t think it’s a…a good idea today.” He admitted laying back down heavily on the pillow.  “I’m cold.” Combeferre nodded sadly, and tossed Courfeyrac his blanket—bright blue with clouds. Joly had given it to him shortly after the accident when he was still in hospital.  ‘Hospital rooms are always so cold.  And just think of all the other people who have used the blanket they give you.  Ick!’ he had said, ‘personal blankets are much nicer.’ Joly worked at the children’s hospital, and he made sure all of his patients had their own personal blanket if they were staying overnight.  He purchased so many blankets and kept them all in his small office, ready to get one for every child who came into his care.  He had super hero blankets, blankets with flours, hearts, stars, smiley faces, and rainbows. He did everything he could to make the kids happy and less afraid.

            “I will warm you up then.” Combeferre smiled, hunkering down next to Courfeyrac and taking him into his arms, holding him tight in his blankets.

            “I’m sorry.” Courfeyrac mumbled into Combeferre’s shoulder.

            “What are you sorry for, Mon Amour?”

            “I don’t want you to have to take care of me like this.”

            “Nonsense. There is nothing I would rather do than hold you and care for you and love you.” he kissed his hair. “Now lay down and rest. I want you to feel better for our party this weekend.” Combeferre smiled.

            “‘Ferre…?”

            “Yes, Mon Amour?”

            “I don’t…I mean…can we wait?”

            “Wait for what?”

            “The party…the wedding thing?”  Combeferre nodded, but seemed uneasy.

            “Yes of course we can.  We can wait as long as you’d like.” He played with the ring on his finger. “We’ll wait until you’re back to normal, yes?”

            “Yeah…” Courfeyrac replied.

            “Unless…you don’t want to get married.  Not at all.” Combeferre said after a long moment of silence.  “It’s alright if you don’t want to.”

            “No! No I do, I just…I don’t want to get stuck in a place we don’t want to be…do you know what I mean?”

            “You’re worried you’ll—er—we’ll change our minds.”

            “I’m worried I won’t get…um…better.”

            “Oh Courfeyrac, you will be alright.  I know you will be.”

            “The doctor said I’m not going to walk uh…normally again.  I’m not going to be able to move my hands right…”

            “Courfeyrac, even if you do not get any better, I will still love you. I will still want to be with you.” he assured him, tucking him under the covers snugly, nice and warm.

            “I don’t want you to have to live like this forever.  I don’t want you to be stuck with me.”

            “Courfeyrac, I am not stuck with you.  I love you.”

            “How do I know you’re not staying because you feel guilty? Or because you feel bad for me?”

            “I am here because I love you!  How can I make you see?” Combeferre felt a lump form in his throat, and was becoming frustrated.

            “I just want you to be happy.”

            “I am happy.”

            “You can’t be happy like this, Combeferre!  I’m nearly bedridden.”

            “I love you.”

            “Combeferre—”

            “Why don’t you believe me?  Have I done something wrong?  Please believe me, Courfeyrac!”

            “You can’t love me like this!  It isn’t possible for you to be happy with me like this!”

            “Why?”

            “I can’t do anything!  I can’t take care of myself!”

            “I will take care of you!”

            “I don’t want you to!”

            “Do you want me to leave?”

            “No, but…I want you to leave if you want to.”

            “Do you think I _want_ to leave?”

            “Yes.”

            Combeferre felt like he had been hit by a truck.  He took off his glasses and wiped the tears away from his eyes. He desperately wanted to leave the room, to go for a walk to clear his mind, but he knew if he did, he would only solidify Courfeyrac’s fears.  I could not leave, and so he sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands.

            “I am sorry you think that way, Mon Amour.” He said finally, looking up and sniffling, cleaning his glasses on his shirt before replacing them on his nose. “I do not know how to make you see that it is not true.  I took this ring from you because I know that I love you and that I want to be with you forever. I would not have taken it if I did not love you.”  Courfeyrac sat up and leaned into Courfeyrac, hugging his chest, resting his head on his shoulder, so fatigued he could hardly hold himself upright.  Combeferre returned the embrace.

            “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

            “I am glad I am here too.” Combeferre smiled.  “I love you so.”

            “I love you too.”

            “Please lay down.  Go back to sleep, I can tell you are tired.” Combeferre helped Courfeyrac down, guiding him back down to the pillow and tucking him in again.

            “Do you need anything?” he asked.  Courfeyrac shook his head.

            “Just you.” he grinned in return, and Combeferre ran his hand through his hair before kissing his hairline.  He climbed under the covers and snuggled Courfeyrac close, keeping him nice and warm.

            “When I was little, my mother used to hold me like this in bed when I was upset.” Combeferre said after a moment. “She used to call me her toasty baby because I was so nice and warm.”  Courfeyrac chuckled.

            “I like that.  Toasty Baby. I’m going to start calling you that.” He laughed.

            “Oh goodness.” Combeferre replied with a light laugh himself.

            “Hey Toasty Baby?” Courfeyrac asked.

            “Yes, Mon Amour?” he replied with a chuckle.

            “There is one thing you can give me.”

            “And what is that?”

            “A kiss.  Right here.” He pointed to his lips, and Combeferre willingly obliged.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been exactly a year and one day since the accident, and Combeferre was tapping away on his laptop, replying to a plethora of work emails, as usual.  He smiled when Courfeyrac walked up behind him and draped his arms over his shoulders, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

            “Hello, Mon Amour.” Combeferre said quietly, closing his laptop and reaching up, running his hand down Courfeyrac’s cheek.

            “Love you.”

            “And I, you.  Come, sit with me.” Courfeyrac smiled and walked around the sofa, sitting beside him and leaning his cane against the coffee table.

            “What were you doing?”

            “Just answering work emails…Nothing exciting.”

            “I have something for you.” Courfeyrac smiled mischievously. Combeferre bowed his bushy eyebrows.

            “What sort of something?” he asked.

            “It’s sort of a game, I guess.”

            “Well let’s play then.  What are the rules?” Combeferre went along with a smile.  Courfeyrac was always pulling things like this: quick little games, singing songs he made up, writing funny stories and leaving them for Combeferre to find…But he hadn’t been doing those things very often since the accident, and Combeferre was pleased he was back to his usual silly games.

            “It’s sort of like a scavenger hunt.  You have to find the clues.”

            “Well what is the first clue?” Combeferre asked with a smile, nuzzling his long, thin nose against Courfeyrac’s cheek.  Courfeyrac reached into his pocket, removed a folded sticky note, and handed it to him.  “First small kitchen appliance we purchased together.” He read.  “I believe it is that instant blender sort of thing…The small one to make smoothies with.  Does that count?” he asked.

            “I think that counts.  Go find your clue.” He smiled.  Combeferre stood and opened the cabinet above the sink, taking the second sticky note from under the small blender.  Inside was written ‘do you…’ in quotation marks, as well as the next clue.  Combeferre blushed when he read it.

            “Where were we the first time you saw me naked?  Courfeyrac that’s so crude!”

            “You know the answer though, don’t you?” Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows suggestively.

            “I believe I accidentally walked in on you after you took a shower!”

            “Go find your clue, doofus.” He replied.  Combeferre walked around the corner and into the bathroom, finding another note stuck to the shower stall door.  He unfolded it as he returned to the TV room. This one read ‘…want to…’ in quotes, as well as the next clue.

            “How did I ask you to date me?  You sent me a text message asking if I wanted to get coffee…But I don’t know where to go for that…” Courfeyrac pressed a button on his phone and Combeferre’s buzzed a moment later in his pocket.  He read the text message, which read ‘…have a…’ followed by the third hint.

            “‘do you want to have a…?’  What? Do I want to have a what?” he asked before continuing.

            “You’re going to have to find the last note, aren’t you?” Courfeyrac said, taking his cane and giving Combeferre a love tap on the top of the head. He laughed.

            “Alright, alright!  Hm…My favorite person (besides you)?” Combeferre laughed.  “Why, Mon Amour, that would be Jonny Depp.”

            “Right again!”

            “Are you referring to the horrible picture of you and Jonny Depp you insist on leaving stuck to the refrigerator?”

            “I am.”  Combeferre shook his head with a chuckle and made his way around the counter island and to the fridge, where a picture of Courfeyrac giving Jonny Depp a ridiculous hug on the metro hung from a magnet.  Combeferre remembered the day well: Courfeyrac apparently had a secret man-crush on Jonny Depp since he was ten and saw him in some movie.  When he saw him on the subway when they visited New York City, he immediately ran to him (as fast as he could with his cane) and gave him a massive hug. Mr. Depp was kind enough to hug him back, and the three of them shared a good laugh.  But instead of the picture of Jonny Depp, there was a final sticky note.  This one was folded into a paper heart.

            “Don’t unfold it yet.” Courfeyrac said.  “Sit next to me first.” He smiled, and Combeferre complied.

            “May I read it now?” he asked, resting his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder.

            “You may.” He unfolded it, and immediately covered his mouth with his hand. His bright hazel eyes flooded with tears, and he nodded. He dropped the final note Courfeyrac wrapped him in a hug, the final words resting on the coffee table beside the others, the sentence finally complete:

 

Do you want to have a baby?


End file.
